Day 13: A True African Experience.

Mwanza, Tanzania - As large raindrops begin to fall from a darkening sky, one of our host’s daughters reached up and silently took my hand in a sign of friendship as we made our way downhill through a small Mwanza community where we had had lunch. It was a sweet moment on a day that really featured a true experience in Africa that most tourists don’t have the opportunity to enjoy.

Meaghan, Alison and I had been invited to lunch by the interns’ housekeeper, Pendo, at her mother’s home a distance out of town. Making our way first to Pendo’s place, we were greeted by a succession of children – some hers (she has eight), some her sister’s and some her friend’s – in a small dark, teal room with a set of shuttered windows and a curtain that had been pulled across to separate bedroom from living room. Leaks in the ceiling were like large cup rings on a coffee table. Chairs and couches quickly filled as children came in, saying the respectful “shikamoo”. They seemed very excited to be having us as guests and quickly brought out a box of photographs and showed us their English homework. None of them spoke it much at all.

They were, however, quite eager to have their “picha” taken and would laugh with delight – and rib each other mercilessly – when we’d show them their facsimile selves on the backs of our cameras. The whole day, they’d point out photo opportunities and often stepped behind the shutter themselves. It was a nice change from having to be so careful about respecting cultural values here, where you don’t just randomly take pictures of people.

Eight children of various ages, the three of us and Pendo each piled into a dala-dala (a small mini-van-like bus) for the 25-minute ride to our destination. Stuffed beyond capacity, there were at times more than 25 sweaty people in the vehicle. And a basket of live chickens. This is Africa.

With the children leading the way and carrying a large basket of cooking bananas, vegetables, wood and other cooking supplies, we made the 20-minute trek up into the hills to Pendo’s mother’s home. The dirt ground in front of the relatively-large house was impeccably swept and out of small gardens sprouted plants that folded unto themselves when touched.

As one child flicked impatiently though stations on a large radio, another showed off his dancehall moves; others began preparing the food and yet another box of photographs was brought out. The children eagerly pointed out themselves and their parents. Pendo’s mother brought out a large bag of plaited straw and taught the interns how to make intricate patterns that could eventually be woven together into large mats.

Lunch, made on a small portable stove outside, was cooking bananas with tomatoes and onion, and some pineapple. Sitting around a coffee table, the children eagerly dove into a large plate, using pieces of banana to scoop up the sauce. Apart from the great company and honour we felt at being invited, the amazing thing about this was that they fed 13 people – most of whom are still growing – for less than five dollars (the enormous bundle of bananas cost 3,000 TSH, or about $2.75). It boggles my mind.

After lunch, the children rose to action, whisking away the dishes, washing and cleaning the house while Pendo had her hair braided by her mother. This was all a real African experience and I was very thankful for having been able to participate in it.

Day 12: Sekou Toure Hospital.

Mwanza, Tanzania - Visiting the Sekou Toure regional hospital in Mwanza this morning, we were reminded of how lucky we are to have the health care service we do in Canada. While the hospital was better equipped than the one we visited in Kenya earlier in the trip, its inadequacies were punctuated by its complete lack of electricity and water since last night. They have no back-up generators.

A large number of the hospital’s patient base of 4-5,000 lines the hallways on long benches, or sits on the lawn. One woman brought with her a basket of live chickens as geckos scurried along the floor. Each of the “In case of emergency, break glass” cases was cracked.

Each day, the hospital helps bring 40 babies into the world and cares for 80 HIV/AIDS patients. One advantage of its being a government-run hospital is that patients only need to pay 5,000 TSH (approximately $4.75) for a registration card that will cover all of their examinations, necessary diagnostics like ultrasounds or x-rays, and any medications. Wait times are only two hours.

HIV/AIDS patients undergo mandatory counselling sessions before they are able to see a doctor, and the room where one such session was being conducted was full of women and young children. And the surgeries scheduled for today? They will have to be postponed until such time as electrical power returns. Such is life in Africa.

This afternoon, we went back to the kitchen so that Meaghan and Alison could deliver follow-up exams related to the mamas’ English lesson earlier in the week. The mamas were busy cooking lunch for one of the local schools, for whom they prepare breakfast and lunch as a side business. We also returned to the Forever Angels orphanage for a couple of hours and it was nice to see I was remembered from last week.

Day 11: A Good Deed.

Mwanza, Tanzania - It was tremendously rewarding to take part in a good deed today during an excursion that will make an enormous difference in a woman’s life.

Where there’s poverty throughout Mwanza, homes in the slums up the hill we visited today are in even more serious states of disrepair. Missing are even the open sewers of the city; refuse of all varieties – fabric, packaging, corn cobs and liquor sachets – blanket the ground, piling high in areas where the wind has carried it. The hills are rocky and steep, the ground hard and dry. Small shacks perch precariously on ledges, gravity pulling wood planks to the ground. With the heat in full force, the hike makes your lungs ache.

As ever, children call out to us and we are welcomed by a number of friendly adults sitting in front of their homes or small shops.

When we reach our destination, a frail-looking woman with few teeth comes to the door of her clay hut and welcomes us warmly into the small room that serves as kitchen, bedroom – with a bed made from pieces of discarded foam – and living room. Soon, her granddaughter, Sikitu – the reason for our visit – comes by and we’re able to hand over a letter and 500,000 TSH (approximately $450-500) from former WHE intern Dallas Currow. Dallas had come to know Sikitu during her time in Tanzania and had conducted additional fundraising back in Canada to help her pay for medicine and other needs.

That is a life-changing amount of money here, particularly where she lives. I can only imagine the look on her face when she opened the envelope.

Glasses: Half-Full.

Mwanza, Tanzania - All within five minutes today, we witnessed a large contrast of activities within the community where the interns’ apartment is located. Returning from the market, we saw a crowd forming as people hurried from all corners to see what the commotion was about. People were smiling, laughing and pointing toward a large throng of people amassed in front of a couple of stores, and someone else was lying on the ground. Suddenly, two police officers appeared from the centre of the mass, one firing shots into the sky, as they whisked an uncooperative suspect away. Yet five minutes later, when we came back outside, a crowd had formed for a different reason: some of the performers we had seen in the HIV/AIDS morality plays last week were doing an African dance, backed by musical instruments reminiscent of a southern jug band. Quite the activity – and a little surreal.

The heat hung heavily and we really felt its effects as we walked throughout the city, and over to the community kitchen, where Meaghan and Alison also teach the ‘yogurt mamas’ English three times a week. Today’s lesson was about the possessive forms of subjects and the interns worked with the mamas in both Swahili and English to help them understand proper sentence structure. The mamas were also really excited to receive reading glasses, which Meaghan’s mother had sent to the community. It was cute to see them trying on different frame styles, but the glasses should really benefit the mamas in their studies and day-to-day work.

All the while, a number of the community’s younger children began appearing on the kitchen’s steps and looked in at us with curiosity. Playing peek-a-boo and making some funny faces sent them into peels of laughter and led to their pretending to hide on the steps or to their scurrying away, only to return all over again.

To Market, To Market.

Mwanza, Tanzania - Looking to pick up some materials for the apartment, Ruben – who is from the Netherlands, and lives with the WHE interns – and I had our senses assaulted when we headed to one of Mwanza’s local markets this afternoon.

The acrid smells of burning garbage were paired with pungent herbs and spices and fresh produce. Though we had our first real rainstorm of the trip this morning, and have enjoyed somewhat cooler temperatures – particularly at night – it was hot and sticky as we wove between the small stalls amid repeated cries of ‘’ and ‘rafiki yangu’ (‘my friend’). Swahili rap music fused aurally into the familiar patter of 50 Cent as a man with a Rastafarian hat danced in the street. A tall man with traditional Maasai sandals made of old car tires hurried back to one of the stalls, where he helped an older mama. Women with babies swaddled in colourful African fabrics on their backs pushed through the crowds, looking to pick something up for dinner. Commotion ruled the moment.

Bargaining sometimes became heated vocally, but everyone was eager to make a deal. Prices dropped radically when you showed you knew a little Swahili and refused entreaties to pay higher prices. We waded through tight wooden stalls hawking bins, cooking ware, produce and a long row of caged, squawking chickens. Men sat in front of tiny shops, ironing clothes with cast irons into which they place hot embers; young boys followed us around, their arms laden with plastic bags for sale (going rate is 1,000 TSH, or a little less than a dollar). Others carry large quantities of produce or timber on their heads or on wheelbarrows, navigating uneasily through the throngs of people. It was impossible to move without pushing past people and without your head and both sides of your body rubbing up against various wares.

Walls, concrete pillars, bus shelters, store signs and banners were all festooned with the colours and familiar wave of Coca Cola.

Another market we ventured into, called Mlango Moja, was laden with t-shirts, sneakers and other clothes that had been sold here from charity clothing bins back in North America. Row upon row of Nike shoes and Tommy Hilfiger shirts hung tightly in rickety stalls and, unlike my experiences in such markets in Malaysia, these weren’t, for the most part, counterfeit. Instead, they were merely second-hand. The irony of buying something and taking it back home would have seemed poetic, but I didn’t.

I have been struck by many of the small shops you pass when you’re going through town; at every turn, there seem to be hair salons with garishly distorted airbrushed faces on the front. A disproportionate number of bed frame manufacturers ply their trade in small workshops along the road, though with the size of families here, I suppose it’s a product that is always in need. Small shops hawk candy and soda and are flanked by one-room shanty hotels. Wood and concrete structures lay side by side, many of which are brightly painted with advertisements and brand logos.

Day Nine: Buswelu.

Mwanza, Tanzania - On roads carved from clay, and etched by rivulets and sinking tires, we made our way to the Buswelu Primary School this morning to take hand-made cards and picture books prepared in English and Swahili by students at Tecumseh Public School in London, Ontario for the children here.

At times, flooded roads became impassable and we were forced to wind through the labyrinthine community, past residents tending to meagre plots of land and washing clothes or themselves in their front yards. By the looks of surprise we received, it became immediately evident these weren’t roads regularly traveled by ‘s’. I suddenly felt very conspicuous and exposed in my pallor. The fact our cab ride to Buswelu – a suburb of Mwanza – cost an average man’s monthly salary was also food for thought.

Homes were generally constructed of clay or concrete; chickens, dogs and goats darted onto the roads with impunity. Children, of all ages, too. It continues to amaze me how many children are always scurrying about – often with loads of water or sticks on their heads – and taking care of themselves from very young ages. It’s not uncommon to see a five-year-old looking after his or her smaller siblings, without a parent in sight. I can’t imagine how young responsibility is foisted upon, or accepted by, youth here, but with the sheer level of poverty, there is an obvious reason why. There is very little time for parental supervision.

Upon arriving at the school, our car was immediately surrounded by children, pointing at us and asking us questions. Thankfully, Meaghan and Alison’s Swahili is much better than mine. Ushered into Headmaster Leonard Chinyele’s small office, we were welcomed and asked to sign the visitor’s register, which has happened everywhere we have been thus far. It was our hope to ask Mr. Chinyele to have students at the school write back to their Canadian counterparts on cards provided by the Western Heads East project; he readily agreed, saying that he could get them to us by the time the interns return home in December. The more we can learn about people in other parts of the world, the easier it can be to understand where we can help and what we can learn from them. Exposure to children like those at these schools is a positive first step.

Mabatini.

Mwanza, Tanzania - “Hapana – asante!” (“No, thank you”) I said to the ‘yogurt mamas’ this morning after they expressed many thanks for our visit and for our support. “We teach you about probiotic yogurt, you teach us about life,” Gregor added. With the experiences we have had over the past week, such a statement resonated with a tremendous amount of poignancy. The energy the ‘yogurt mamas’ bring to the Western Heads East initiative and to their community is tremendous. I am privileged to have had the opportunity to witness this first-hand. We were meeting with the mamas for the last time as a full complement of team members on this trip; Gregor, Jennifer and Maryanne have just left for the airport. I, however, look forward to working with them again over the coming weeks before I, too, return home to Canada.

From a personal standpoint, I have been amazed to see the sheer number of children running about and looking shyly, excitedly or sometimes with trepidation, at these “muzungus” coming into their community in a Range Rover. The Mabatini village is not exactly a tourist destination. They are quick with smiles when you engage them, and are fascinated by seeing pictures of themselves on the back of a digital camera. Today, I nearly incited a mini riot of children who rapidly surrounded me after I took a photo of one of the boys and showed it to him. Soon, children – seemingly extricating themselves from crevices in the walls – clamoured around for their opportunity to be photographed and to be around the visitors. It was as though it took one to break the ice, to show we were friendly. The excitement is infectious. Of course, my handing out superballs to a few of the children only whipped the crowd into more of a frenzy, but you can’t possibly begin to bring enough for everyone. Children are, literally, everywhere.

This, of course, is one of the big reasons this project is so important. While I can presume it’s the same throughout the majority of Africa, I have seen first-hand, and know to be true, that malnutrition, disease and lack of access to potable water are ravaging populations in Kenya and Tanzania. It has been astounding to see so few senior citizens throughout our travels. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach when I realize just why that is: the average life expectancy is just 45. It’s universal whether you’re in Canada, the United States, Kenya or Tanzania: the children are the future. With this in common, we could certainly learn from each other to help create a better future around the globe. Despite their hardship, and often limited opportunity, the children here are, for the most part, extraordinarily happy. Many are sick, but they do not look defeated. Nearly all their clothes are in tatters, but “sawa” (“it’s alright”); it’s hot here.

It’s something I would suggest we think about a little more often as we stress about deadlines, bills and what shade of taupe to paint our walls. We certainly have poverty, disease and a different kind of malnutrition in North America, but here, it seeps into everything the dust can reach. Which is to say, everywhere.

Day Five: Mwanza.

Mwanza, Tanzania - The heat hangs heavily, like a sopping wool sweater, sucking from you what breath hasn’t already been stolen by dust-filled lungs. Despite being the beginning of the rainy season, we have seen but a sprinkle since we landed in Africa nearly a week ago. The small breeze rattles the palms into chatter and Lake Victoria glistens hazily in the morning sun. Kingfishers, storks and eagles stalk their breakfast dizzily, lazily drifting. Then rocket straight toward the water below as through threaded to a fishing line.

The ‘Faculty’ portion of the trip draws to a close today, as does much of the formal agenda. Gregor, Jennifer and Maryanne begin returning home this afternoon, though Isaac will remain for a couple more days. I’ll be starting the ‘Intern experience’ of the trip, staying with the Western Heads East interns and volunteering in the community for the rest of my time here. Goodbye hot water, regular access to the Internet and reliable electricity. The interns are the are the contingent from Canada who keeps the project going on a daily basis, so I look forward to gaining some perspective into their experience, and we have a number of great things planned.

Oh, that and a couple of us are heading out to tent on the Serengeti and at the Ngorongoro crater for the next couple of days. You know, small things.

Day Four: Mwanza.

Mwanza, Tanzania - Without question, the days painted with the experience of visiting various towns and communities have thus far proved to be the most rewarding – both personally and professionally. Being among the people has provided unparalleled opportunities for seeing how other people live, and also for how much we have to be thankful. The sights. The smells. The sounds. The feelings. Our senses are alive and being pulled in so many directions.

Today, we visited the birthplace of the Western Heads East project in Africa – the Mabatini community kitchen. Before we had the chance to do so, however, we had a successful meeting with Regional Administrative Secretary Alhaji Yhya Mbila, who cleared space in his morning schedule to meet with us at the prompting of Amran Batenga, Chairman of the regional Chamber of Commerce, with whom we met last night.

Our objective during the meeting was to increase awareness of, and generate increased support from government for, the Western Heads East project. “We all out support it; we’re talking about AIDS, which is a big threat,” Mbila said. “Mwanza is the hub,” he began, telling us that the lake region is home to 30 per cent of the country’s population. “Historically, we have competition economically with Kenya and Uganda, but invariably, we are the best.” While he previously had little knowledge of the project, he was sufficiently impressed that he promised to visit the community kitchen over the next month to experience it first hand.

Which is what we did next. Greeted by the mamas, who were all wearing green Western Heads East T-shirts (which read, on the back, “How can a cow fight HIV? Western Heads East”) along with their traditional kitenge, we were given portions of the probiotic yogurt that has helped them build their reputation in the community. Though we eventually added a little bit of sugar, it tasted quite good.

The mamas’ kitchen is a small room with turquoise walls and a mural depicting the community engaged in the yogurt making process on one wall. Awash with green plastic containers, a small floortop stove, a refrigerator, other tools and a table for distribution, the kitchen will need to be expanded to increase opportunities for sustainability. The village of Mabatini is dry and set into the hills with dirt roads and people everywhere. Most of the buildings are stone and the wind whips down the laneways, carrying with it dust and the excited trills of children. I look forward to revisiting the community over the next week or so and seeing more of it. It was an amazing experience.

Following our time in the kitchen, we are treated to a cultural experience as the local Tunda Sana theatre troupe ushered us in as honoured guests to watch a series of performances aimed at teaching people about HIV/AIDS through drama. While I likened it in my head to opera – which you don’t necessarily need to understand the lyrics to enjoy – we had an interpreter and were truly blown away by the performance, and the experience. Following the main morality plays, the audience was engaged to ask questions of the actors, who remained in character while providing their responses. It struck me how this encouraged important discussion among the group, and was impressed by the actors’ ability to reply in metaphor. On one such occasion, for example, an actor portraying a philandering girlfriend was asked, “Why have more than one boyfriend,” to which she replied, “You can’t live on the same diet of rice.” This also happened to be the one time an actor had no answer to the follow-up question: “If you need change in your diet, why not women?” I also thought that was a pretty enlightened question for this area. The session wrapped up with a traditional African dance, which was also a tremendous, unexpected experience.

Looking out at a rainbow arcing over Lake Victoria, I feel almost like I have found the pot of gold of experience; this has also been another amazing day.

Day Three: Mwanza, Tanzania.

Mwanza, Tanzania - Arriving in Mwanza, Tanzania this afternoon following yet another travel day (that makes five straight days on planes), we are finally able to shed our wings for a few and settle in one place. Upon arrival, we were met at the airport by the Western Heads East’s project’s current interns, Meaghan and Alison, and taken to Hotel Tilipia, on the banks of Lake Victoria. We were even greeted by birds the size of small adults, nicknamed “Dirty Birds” around here. I thought they were statues they were so big. Statues don’t move, though.

Taking in the sights from the air has its unique benefits and can give provide perspective about just how big things are, how the topography and climate change and how dense populations are. From what we have seen so far here, it’s mostly: very vast, predominantly arid and home to geographically diverse peoples.

We had a pretty clear day for flying and got a good look at Mount Kilimanjaro, where we landed to pick up additional passengers (I’m gathering Precision Air functions a bit like a big city bus…), the Ngorongoro crater and the Serengeti. There was also volcanic activity below as a volcano bordering the crater had begun spewing ash.

Seeing small vortexes of dust curling violently into the sky like wagging fingers, it was amazing to see just how dry and dusty everything is. I had believed the plumes were smoke from campfires, but as I watched them dance through the brush as the winds changed, it became apparent they were something else entirely. It was also particularly interesting to see homesteads on the savanna set up with circular or square fences of planted brush to keep wild predators away. Likely a good thing when you live in these parts in a mud hut. Small sections were portioned off with additional brush fences for gardens or for goats, and in the inner circle – with the most security – were the owners’ homes.

Prior to bidding kwaheri to Kenya this morning, we had an early meeting with Nyambura Gigthagui from The World Bank, who looks after funding for this probiotic yogurt project in Kenya. She warned of the importance of moving quickly to prevent any loss of momentum, and to also ensure that any community kitchens set up are wholly owned by the women’s groups rather than any one individual. “At the community level, we have so many resources available, but we need a framework for decentralizing them,” she said. Hopefully – and I believe we do – we have a positive way in which we can encourage these groups to take ownership and use their learnings to provide significant benefits to their communities.

The dust in the air has coated the interior of my lungs, bringing with it a slight hacking cough not helped by the long days nor the pollution in the cities, but none of us can believe we have been here for only three days.